


until death

by rielity (snowdrops)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Character Interlude, Character Study, Ficlet, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 11:58:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1687499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowdrops/pseuds/rielity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas watches the Star of Eärendil guarding the sky one night on the plains of Rohan, and he ponders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	until death

**Author's Note:**

> First published 24 December, 2012 on fanfiction.net under the same title.  
> My first LOTR ficlet/drabble. I had an incredibly hard time writing this because all my plot bunnies were jumping at me and in the end this was produced - a jumbled up scrapbook of snapshots and thoughts. I hope it makes sense to you someway, somehow.
> 
> Set during The Two Towers, in the middle of the Three Hunters' pursuit of the hobbits towards Isengard across the Riddermark.

Just faintly he could see the Star of Eärendil as it sailed the dark sky, a bitter reminder of the great light of the Two Trees, which had been lost to the darkness.

* * *

 _Darkness._ Such a foreign, strange thing yet so full of despair. So full of grief, of sadness, of regrets.

He was born into darkness, deep within the caves of Mirkwood. Deep within a place of dark solitude, where survival was the most important and nothing else mattered. Elves of other realms oft sang and held feasts, dancing through the nights as the moon waxed and waned, but not the Elves of Mirkwood. He himself was testament to this sobriety, having learnt how to wield a sword and kill with a quiver while he was a mere elfling, barely a hundred years of age. And this knowledge of war, along with the awareness of evil that cloaked the whole of Middle-earth like a shroud, had served him well indeed throughout his life. He knew, all too well, the battles they had fought through his thousand years of life, the people he had lost to the shadows – to _darkness_.

He continued gazing at the sky, watching as the Star of Eärendil shone like a beacon of hope to all who might see it. 

 _Hope_. Who would have thought that Hope came in the form of a mortal, and in the form of a Man at that? Who would have thought that the fate of Middle-earth lay on the shoulders of one Ranger, who was but a child when he took up the task of saving the only world he had ever known? Who would have thought that he would have befriended Hope, a _mortal_ , and even be willing to give up his all for this one Man whose burden was much too heavy for him to ever understand? Eru knew, Eru knew how many times his heart had broken to see this Man on the brink of death, where even the greatest Elven-lord despaired and feared he might never make it. And Eru knew too, how many times Hope had proven to them the magic of his namesake, how he had through pure stubbornness come back to them. Because that was what he was, and it was all that Aragorn son of Arathorn meant to him. Not Strider the Ranger of the North, not Future Lord of Gondor, not heir of Isildur, not King of Men. But just simply _E_ s _tel_. _Hope_.

And so this one Man was lying down, on the plains of Rohan as the stars twinkled merrily above. Lying down deep in slumber, his weary face seemingly at peace for a while as the cares that lay upon him fell away to reveal the innocent child that he had been so many long years ago. The child that had climbed the Silver Tree in Rivendell, as a reckless act of rebellion against his foster father; the child that had been struck back by Orcs and Wargs and so many many forces of _darkness_ , but had never been struck down once. The child that had come crying up to him one night sixty-three years ago, where under a night sky akin to the one they were under now he heard how the child had had a nightmare of his family disappearing from him, leaving him alone. And the child to whom he had sworn an oath: “Until death I will protect you, and I will never, ever leave you alone for my heart already belongs with you, as does everything of mine.”

* * *

To a being who is immortal, time seems but endless, and the years flow by without meaning. For what is there to count down to when there seems to be always a future to look forward to? There would always be a tomorrow, a new dawn, and the life of a mortal would merely be a drop in the ocean that is known as eternity.

To those who are not immortal however, the foreign word known as _time_ that marks the beginning and ending of the sun and moon takes on a meaning, a meaning known as death. Even the strongest, hardiest mortal falls prey to time, which steals away as though a thief in darkness. Time ultimately brings death to the mortals, for that is the Gift which Eru has given to them. They are freed, freed from the circles of Arda, freed from all woe and despair. But they are not freed from one thing – they are still held on to by those they leave behind, who try to keep their memory safe. Yet Eru had done well, for the memories of mortals dim as time passes – once again, time, this cruel foe – and pain is diminished, tears are dried even as the sun sets and the moon rises. But when an immortal comes into contact with a mortal, and that mortal begins to take root inside his heart, then he is in danger.

For the immortals never forget. They remember everything. The curse of the Firstborn is immortality, and with immortality comes an eternal memory. Some memories fainter than others, some more prominent than most. But they would never forget all the wars they fought, all the friends and kinsmen they had lost through the ages as long as they yet live. And that is why the immortals stay their distance – stay away from the mortals. They do not wish to remember death, do not wish to see one whom they hold dear begin to fade over time by a Music in which they have no part to play, ebbing away into a place where they cannot follow, outside the circles of Arda. They do not want to hold on to a memory of loss and pain and helplessness, for even seeing death in battle is much less painful than seeing a loved one suffer and ultimately perish from nothing other than the passage of time. 

And that was the risk that Legolas took, and what a risk it was indeed. As he gazes at his two sleeping companions, as the Star of Eärendil makes his journey across the sky, he realizes that mayhap this grief that mars the heart of the Firstborn is not unfounded, yet for all that he knows there is no way in Arda that he will ever give up the friendship of these two mortals. The two who have gone with him into the shadows and returned, who have seen Death with their own eyes and who have seen the Terror of despair, of evil, of darkness unseen but instead felt with every fibre of their being. Mayhap they will lead to his downfall at the end of it all, but the oath he made sixty-three years ago binds him to Estel, to _Hope_ , and the oath he made to Gimli son of Gloin at the borders of Fangorn Forest binds them together as well. He has vowed to see the day that the darkness retreats with these two companions, and there is nothing on Middle-earth that might persuade him to break these oaths. 

* * *

If for nothing else, while darkness is here he will protect and watch over them for a little while. For at the first break of dawn they will set out again over Rohan, searching for those who were so forcibly taken from them.


End file.
